


Shiver

by jencsi



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi
Summary: "All your life you've never seenA woman taken by the windWould you stay if she promised you heaven?Will you ever win"
Relationships: The Homelander | John/Madelyn Stillwell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Shiver

He moves stealthily around the large conference room as he waits for her to arrive, hands behind his back, face wearing an expression of a smug sense of superiority at having information she doesn’t. He can hear her high heels clicking on the floor as she enters, grappling about being called away, wondering what the emergency is. 

When the box is opened and she sees what’s inside, smells what’s inside, and recoils, a wicked grin spreads across his face. Why does he find joy in this moment of confusion and disgust? He tries to shake it off as he circles around her, whispering about what they know, and who they are after. He slips his arm through the small space she’s left between her arm and her body, fingers grazing her side as he shifts her closer, whispering curses of these heathens. When his fingers brush against her side, he feels her shiver. Was it cold? Fear? Hostility? Some regret or sorrow? Whatever it was, it was new to him and he liked it. 

The material of her dress was soft, clinging to her, natural, the only thing standing in the way of him pressing his fingers into her flesh. It didn’t take much more than a gentle touch to illicit that shiver. He sensed that she wanted to shift away from him but she refrained, holding her composure, ever sturdy. 

It happened again when they were posing for pictures outside during a dedication ceremony for some new facility that Vought was sponsoring. For what he did not care, all he could focus on was how the group photo had him right beside her. As the photographer encouraged them to scoot closer to get everyone in the shot, he pressed his hand against her side and felt her tremble and shiver immediately. It was too warm outside with the sun beating down on them for this to be the result of a chill in the air. This was her, purely her, reacting this way. He didn’t take his hand off her side during the entire length of the photography session. When he did retreat, she smoothed out her dress, feigning an excuse of trying to rid the wrinkles from the fabric but he knew better, she was sterilizing her body of his touch. 

The idea that she might actually enjoy physical contact with him is a genuine happy thought that lifts his spirit in dark times. He starts to look for an excuse to be close enough to her to have these moments. When they have to debrief in her office over some nonsensical press conference or interview or new thing he has to promote, they always settle on the plush white couch to do so. The cushions have evidence of wear and tear on them from how often they sit here. He doesn’t mind the worn out cushions, it’s evidence of time, of their time together, something sacred to him. She slips glasses on her face to read, skimming through files, pointing out lines and facts to him. He feigns an inability to see which they both know is a lie. Whatever it takes to allow him to slide closer to her on the couch, arm slipping around her waist, fingers pressing against her side. He feels her tense up at first but then relaxes her muscles and her back, adjusting to the sensation, trying to pretend it’s normal when it’s driving her insane. 

On the rare instance that she was cold, she shivered underneath the canopy overhang outside an apartment building late one winter night, folding her arms against her chest, hobbling around, rocking on her heels, trying to keep warm on her own but failing despite the long wool jacket she sported. It was no trouble at all for him to slip his arm around her waist and guide her closer to him, for warmth, was the excuse, all the while curling his fingers against the curve of her side and feeling her tremble. 

Say what you want about her; ruthless, cold, scheming, he overheard them all from executives and politicians as they muttered under their breaths forgetting he was near. But at the end of the day she was human, fascinating, yet fragile, as sensitive as the next person, shivering at the slightest touch, and ideally, wonderfully, all his.


End file.
